My brain chips away
in little pieces, small slivers
as things to do
grow like a monster
in my head.
I try to control it
get plenty of rest
but all two aspirin will do
is leave a funny taste on my tongue.
I promised myself
and the small world around me
that I'd quit
this black habit
this obsession to move
and slow to a pace
that allows me to breathe
real air
and not just the wind
at 70 mph
vented
through an open car window.
But when the monster sleeps,
and my thoughts form real words
I am too tired to breathe
and collapse
into a remote controlled slumber.
.
--
--
But when the monster sleeps,
and my thoughts form real words
I am too tired to breathe
and collapse
into a remote controlled slumber.
.
--
--